If Tables Could Talk
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: SVU AU John Munch and Sarah Zelman indulge in their favorite activity in a new location, with somewhat disasterous -- yet humorous -- results. Rated for adult situations and strong language.


"If Tables Could Talk"

by Cardinal Robbins

Disclaimer: John Munch isn't mine, but the rest of 'em are. For those curious about the timeframe – August, 2007.

The room was almost ink black, it was so dark; the only illumination came from a small grouping of candles on an end table by the sofa. The cool scent of 'Tranquil Waterfalls' filled the air, joined by the sounds of the man and woman who would have cast only one shadow in the darkness.

They accomplished their goal together, as he momentarily collapsed over her. "Have I ever told you how much I like this coffee table?" John Munch asked, slowly getting up.

"Only about nineteen times," Sarah Zelman quipped, "but who's counting?"

He heard her laughing softly as he excused himself for a moment. Once he returned, she was where he'd left her, lying on her back on the table in front of the sofa. He turned on a lamp, adjusted it to its lowest setting, then stood and simply looked at her for a moment. "I should open a bottle of champagne," he said, a sly smile on his face.

"Any particular reason?"

"To toast how beautiful you are in emerald green lingerie," he replied, grinning. "Would you like me to help you up?" He took a step closer to the coffee table as she turned slightly to her side and began to straighten.

"No need… You could go open that champagne." She tried to rise and gasped, her face pale, a loud fricative escaping her lips. "Son of a bitch!" she almost yelled, despite the early hour. "John – my back! I pulled something – " She rolled off the low table on to the floor, where he kneeled beside her.

"Which side hurts? Let me see what I can do," he said, as she tried to stretch out on the carpet. "Can you move at all?"

"Not right now, no," she decided, her breath coming in short gasps. "It hurts too much to move." At that moment, she realized there was no comfortable position to be had.

John reached over to massage her back muscles, doubtful he could do anything of value, because when the muscles along her sciatic nerve seized, it took medical intervention to unlock them. "Is this helping at all?"

"I'd like to say yes, but it would be lying," she admitted, through gritted teeth. "God should have warned me, if it's a question of being too old to schtupp on a coffee table." She tried to catch her breath, concentrating on John's touch. "It's pulled all the way through my gluteus through my calf to the Achilles' tendon." She moaned softly, in pain not pleasure, as he massaged her hip, then her thigh.

"We should get you to the Reddi-Med, if nothing else," John decided, feeling the muscles knotted beneath his fingertips. "I don't think you can take a couple Darvocet and walk this off, babe."

"I can't go to the Reddi-Med, sweetheart."

Munch looked at her curiously. "Why not? I'll help you ease into your clothes, we'll take the VUE and get you to the clinic."

"I won't go," she asserted, trying to move once more as a gasp left her. "Ohhhhhh, god… What in the hell do I have to do, to get this pain cranked down?" She tried to move her left leg as another spasm of pain drew a curse from her.

"You're going." He couldn't stand seeing her in pain. He'd wince if she got to much as a paper cut at work, but this was so much worse.

"Just my luck, it'll be Dr. Pacheco's shift," she explained. "I can't face him again." She trembled as another spasm rocketed through her back muscles and down her leg. "The last time this happened, three months ago, he was the guy we saw."

"So? What's the big deal?" He rose, to go to the bedroom and retrieve Sarah's clothing. "You're still upset he teased you last time?"

"'Upset'?" she asked, incredulous. _"'Upset'?_ After he gave me no end of grief about the vacuum getting the better of me?" She grit her teeth once more, sure John was right – it was going to take a shot at the clinic, or the muscle pull wouldn't let her sleep. Such a great way to spend early Saturday morning, she thought ruefully.

"He was teasing you, Sarah," John replied, laughing. "I'm sure he knew what we'd really been doing, but he was too much of a gentleman to say so." He walked into the bedroom, momentarily out of earshot.

"Cragen will plotz if I have to call in on Monday," she whispered, idly thinking of a new excuse she'd give everyone. She almost shrugged, figuring everyone would know the truth anyway. She heard water running – the bathroom sink.

"Here, Sarah, take these," John directed, watching as she rolled over just enough to take a few sips of water and swallow some Darvocet. "that should help the aftermath of getting you dressed." Which he did slowly, with great care as she tried not to complain. At one point, tears stood in her eyes, but she didn't say anything despite him seeing the glimmer. "I don't mean to hurt you further, you know." He put his hand against her cheek, caressing it for a moment.

"I know you don't, but there's no way around it," she assured him. "I need to get off the floor now." She sounded like a French woman headed for the gallows. "This will take a bit and there _will_ be more cussin'." Sarah took a deep breath and rolled toward the coffee table, using it to help her stand.

John wanted to hug her, but he knew better. Maybe after they'd been to the clinic, but certainly not now.

Forty minutes later, she was standing in an exam room at the Reddi-Med, with John trying to convince her that when the nurse asked her to remove her clothing, it meant everything. She would have none of it, standing beside the exam table in her lacy lingerie, a paper 'gown' draped over her front. There was no way she could climb up and lie down.

Moments later. Dr. Pacheco breezed in, a slight smile on his face as he looked over her chart. "Good morning," he said a little too brightly. "How are my favorite detectives?"

"They hurt," Sarah said tartly. "At least one of them does. The other has the patience of Job, and came to my rescue when I called him out at this ungodly hour."

The good doctor knew part of that statement was a fib. "Don't tell me, let me guess: You were vacuuming again, in your lingerie, and your back went out." The three of them had been acquainted for a few years, banter usually reserved for those times when they'd meet over a cold beer or two.

Pacheco used to work in the Coroner's office; a top-notch forensics doctor who'd jumped to the 'dark side' when offered a job which actually paid a decent wage. "You realize, men would pay outrageous amounts of money to watch your domestic prowess at this hour." At least he kept his suspicions to himself, insofar as the detectives' sex life was concerned.

"Jerk," Sarah snapped, not really meaning it.

"Pablo, you're living on borrowed time, my friend," John warned, seeing the expression on Sarah's face. "She's in pain and neither of us are happy. I'd strongly advise you to act – and act quickly." He looked at the doctor over the top of his lenses, raising his brows as he nodded toward Zelman.

"I figured as much, but I wanted to check first." He walked behind Sarah, gently examined the muscles along her sciatic nerve, all of them tense and seemingly knotted. "Which position in the Kama Sutra were you trying this time?" he asked softly, probing as carefully as he could while she winced and yelped. "Don't tell me, number thirty-four?" He saw John redden and smiled. "I'm not going to blow your cover. You can both trust me," he reminded them.

"It was the coffee table," Munch finally admitted.

"John!" Sarah hissed, her face bright red. "Don't encourage him!"

Pacheco tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably, laughing to inadvertently add insult to Zelman's injury. "I'm sorry, but you two amaze me. Even my parents can't hold a candle to you, and they're hot Latin lovers." He took up a vial and syringe, nodding to John to pull down Sarah's lace panties down far enough to give him access to the curve of her hip. "Relief is on the way, you vixen." He gave her the injection, wrote out a couple of prescriptions, then fished around for a sample pack of muscle relaxants.

"Such abuse I pay you for," Sarah said, finally giving up and giggling a bit. "Thanks for the shot, the 'scrips and the samples, Doc." She began to carefully creep back into her clothing, as both men helped.

"As well as the comedy," Munch added pithily. "Maybe you should start requiring a two-shot minimum, wise-guy."

"You know, sometimes a coffee table _is_ merely a coffee table," Pacheco quipped.

"Agreed," John retorted, "but sometimes, it's also a gateway to paradise."


End file.
